The throne room fell silent. Nobles exchanged glances. The bishop sputtered.
"I... that is... the corruption alone—" the bishop tried.
"So zero," Advent concluded. "Or close to it. She hasn't actually been killing humans. She's just existing in a way you don't approve of."
The temperature in the room dropped. Power began leaking from Advent—centuries of accumulated strength pressing against reality like a physical weight.
"You woke me up," Advent said, his voice still casual but now carrying an undercurrent of something dangerous, "after two hundred and forty years of sleep, because you want me to kill a demon lord who isn't actually threatening anyone, just so you can claim her territory and eliminate a refuge for people you don't like."
"Lord Reaper, you misunderstand—" the king started.
The power flared.
